by Jon Skovron
“Let’s open it slowly,” she said. “We don’t know what’s down there.” But when they did open it, the stench made it clear precisely what was in there.
“It smells like the worst parts of Paradise Circle all in one place.” She wrinkled her nose and turned her head away as they slid the iron lid to one side.
“That’s about what it is.” Red pointed down into the hole, where a shallow stream of excrement moved sluggishly along. “No wonder the streets are so clean. They move it all underground. Kind of ingenious, really.”
“Also useful for us,” said Hope, nodding to the unconscious soldier.
“So right after I get him demoted, we knock him out and drop him in a puddle of piss and shit,” said Red. “Maybe you should have just killed him.”
* * *
In other parts of New Laven, the transitions from one neighborhood to the next had been gradual. It had been difficult for Hope to tell where exactly one ended and the next began. But the transition from Keystown to Hollow Falls was so starkly abrupt, it seemed a purposeful declaration.
On one side of the street were the neat, orderly, tightly packed barracks of the imperial garrison. On the other side, the world opened up into rolling hills, charming wood fences, and clear trickling brooks with finely crafted bridges. Ornate mansions dotted the landscape, surrounded by vast spreads of green. Coming from downtown, where everything and everyone were piled up on top of each other, it struck Hope that in a place like New Laven, space might be the most precious commodity. To have this much open space, and to keep it without functional purposes such as farming or storage, was the height of decadence.
“You sure the sword says to go this way?” Red asked.
She nodded.
“Rich people aren’t so scary,” he said, as if assuring her.
“I’m not frightened of them,” she said.
“Right. Well. Me neither.”
It was unusual to see his confidence falter like this. A few days ago, she might have found it amusing. But after the last few nights, learning more about his childhood and family, she understood far better what lay behind all his cavalier bluster. Now it pained her to watch him struggle.
“Let’s continue, then,” she suggested gently.
“Of course!” His smile returned, but looked a little tight. “If he keeps fleeing north, there’s only so much further he can go before he runs out of land. We might even catch him before nightfall.”
“Unless he takes to ship,” said Hope.
“Don’t you worry, old pot, we’ll catch him before that.” He slapped her back like she was one of his wags. She wondered if he missed Filler. She could see how his tall, quiet presence might give Red some additional confidence right now. She was surprised to find that she missed him as well. And Nettles, too. If nothing else, it would have been nice to have someone else to share the misery of formal uptown dress with. She wondered if she would ever see either of them again.
“Let’s be on our way, then,” said Red. “Biomancers don’t behead themselves, you know.”
They crossed the street into the wide, spacious neighborhood of Hollow Falls. It felt like a transgression to do even that small thing, and Hope half expected to see soldiers pop up from behind bushes to drive them back. But of course, nothing happened. In fact, as they walked down the side of the winding road that cut through the meadows, there were hardly any people at all. The few they saw were in carriages or on horseback, and nodded politely as they passed. Some even wished them a good afternoon.
After the drab grays and browns of downtown, the colors in this place were a welcome relief. Lush green grass covered the rolling hills. Pale green and yellow leaves covered the thin, elegant trees. Bright flowers in reds, blues, and yellows sprang from carefully manicured shrubs and bushes. Fences were painted a dazzling white that reflected the afternoon sunlight.
But even more striking than the space or the color was the quiet. Hope had grown up in quiet, both in her village, and later on Galemoor. Even on the Lady’s Gambit, quiet had been fairly easy to find once she got used to the sounds of the sea. But since landing in New Laven, she had not had a single moment of true quiet. Whether it was people talking, shouting, music playing, carriages rattling, guns firing, or companions snoring, the silence was nonexistent. But now it was all around them, soaring out over a landscape so vast, sound seemed like an intrusion.
She could tell Red didn’t find silence the same peaceful respite she did. He kept glancing around them, his eyes darting, his hands tense at his sides. He would try to engage her in conversation, but when she only answered in shrugs or quiet grunts, he seemed to take the hint and gave up.
They continued up the winding road, occasionally crossing side paths that were just wide enough to let a carriage pass. Those led up to mansions that stretched several stories and were surrounded by dense, complex gardens full of rare plants Hope had only read about. Though not quite as large as Bayview Gallery or the hotel, they were still big enough that Hope found it difficult to believe they were merely homes for a single family.
It was late afternoon, the sun low in the horizon, when the sword gave a jump in Hope’s hand. She jerked to a stop, her heart suddenly pounding.
“What is it?” asked Red, breaking the silence for the first time in a while.
“The sword is pointing to that mansion.”
“Is he in the mansion, or past it?”
“Let’s find out.” Hope continued walking past the mansion, but at a faster pace. Her pulse steadily increased with each step, and she felt a hot eagerness welling up inside. Hurlo would have chastised her and told her to stop and return to a place of calm before proceeding. But she couldn’t help herself. If it weren’t for her dress, she might have even broken into a run. She held the sword out before her, and as they moved past the mansion, it began to slowly twist in her hand, keeping its point toward the mansion.
She stopped and looked at Red. “He must be in there.”
“Um.” Red squinted as he surveyed the place.
“Look for possible entry points,” said Hope. “Probably one of the balconies. Those might not be locked. But there aren’t any trees near the building, so we’ll have to scale the side.”
“Um, Hope?” Red’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“Of course that means we’ll have to wait until nightfall. I hate to give him that time. He could easily slip away by then. We could try to find somewhere to keep watch, but there’s so little cover around here. And he could wait until dark, conceivably slipping away at the same time we’re breaking in…” She frowned. It was not an ideal setup at all.
“Hope,” said Red.
“What is it?” she snapped a little more impatiently than she’d intended.
“Judging by the directions Thoriston gave me, I think…that’s Pastinas Manor.”
It took Hope a second to make the connection. The name Pastinas sounded familiar. It was his mother’s surname.
“That’s your grandfather’s house?”
“Yeah,” he said quietly.
She tried to assess what it meant for him to be at his ancestral home, uninvited, and possibly unwanted. There was a faint look of dread on his face as he stood there with his eyes fixed on the mansion in the distance.
“Well?” she asked. “What do you want to do?”
He turned to her slowly, as if coming out of a trance. “What do you mean?”
“No oath made in friendship can override the familial bond. If your family is harboring the biomancer, they are in my way. It won’t stop me, but I understand if it stops you. I…” She paused, selfishly not wanting to continue, but knowing it was the right thing to do. “I release you from your oath.”
His brow furrowed as he looked at her. “Family?” Then he spat. “That isn’t my pissing family. Sadie and Old Yammy are my family. Filler and Nettles are my family.” He held out his hand to her. “You are more my family than any of these lacies, blood be damned. Keen?”
She took his warm, gloved hand in hers and squeezed. “Thank you.”
The two of them stood there, hands clasped, and stared at each other, neither able to find the words that might come next.
“I say, there, fronzies! Watch out!”
Hope and Red leapt apart as a large clanking jumble of metal and wood on wheels zoomed past. A young man sat on top of the pile, yanking levers and pressing down on pedals, a panicked expression on his face. The contraption continued on a little further, then spun around sharply and tipped over with a crash.
Hope and Red got to their feet, watching the pile of machinery warily. A moment later, the man jumped up from the wreckage, his eyes a little wild. He had long dark hair that was now only partly pulled back in a ponytail. The rest was a curtain that covered half his face. He wore the elegant finery of the uptown class, except the jacket was torn, and there were black smudges all over his pants. But the thing that struck Hope the most was that he looked so much like Red, he could have been his older brother.
“Is everyone alright?” he demanded, stumbling free of the pile. “I have some slight medical knowledge. If I can be of any assistance, I should be very glad of it.”
Red seemed to assess the situation in a second, then his eyes locked on Hope’s. “Oh dear!” he said in a fairly good imitation of the young man’s lacy tone. “I fear my companion may have injured her leg in the fall!”
Hope had no talent for performance, but she did her best to look pained and hold on to her ankle.
“My goodness, but this is awful!” exclaimed the man. “You must come inside at once so I can tend to your injury!”
“Very kind indeed, but we’d hate to be such a nuisance,” said Red, finding more confidence in the lacy speech.
“Nonsense, I insist!” He hurried over to Hope. “My name is Alash Havolon, and it would be an embarrassment to my name if I didn’t care for an injured lady. And may I have the honor of your name?”
“My name is Bleak Hope.” Only after she said it did it occur to her that she should have used a fake name. One that sounded a little more lacy and not known by Teltho Kan.
“A troubling name for such a lovely lady.” Alash reached for her right hand, but found that it was holding a sword. He stared at it for a moment, his expression openly shocked.
“And I’m Rixidenteron,” Red said quickly, grasping his hand and shaking it vigorously. “Is this your estate?”
“Actually, my grandfather is the head of Pastinas Manor,” said Alash.
“Do tell!” Red’s expression gave no indication that he’d just learned he was talking to his cousin. “We were passing by and stopped to admire it.”
“I’m smitten you like it!” said Alash, brushing his hair back out of his face. Unlike Red, his eyes were a light gray.
“Oh yes. Clearly the finest in the area,” said Red. “A pleasure to behold.”
“Perhaps once we have seen to Miss Hope’s injuries, you would like a tour?”
Red smiled triumphantly. “That would be marvelous.”
“Excellent!” Alash held his elbow out to Hope. “Please permit me to escort you in, Miss Hope.”
“Sure.” She tentatively reached out and took hold of his elbow.
He gave her a confused look.
“Miss Hope is not familiar with our customs,” said Red. “She’s from the Southern Isles, you know.”
“Damned if you say!” gasped Alash.
“Have no fear of her, though,” said Red, really warming into his role now. “Despite what you may have heard, the Southerners are not all cannibals.”
Alash laughed, his voice like a clear bell. “I had heard such tales.” He took Hope’s arm and slipped it through his so they interlocked. “But I never believe such ignorant nonsense. I am a man of science, you see.”
He held his arm stiff so that she could put weight on it. That was a fortunate prompt, because after being nearly accused of cannibalism, Hope had almost forgotten that she should be limping.
“I will not make any more assumptions, Miss Hope,” he continued, “but shall strive my utmost to make you feel as comfortable as possible, being so far from home.”
Hope glanced over her shoulder at Red, who wore an amused grin. There was something else in his gaze, though. It seemed almost like jealousy. But he gave her an encouraging nod and gestured for her to go with it.
“You are very kind,” Hope said quietly as she and Alash began walking slowly up the path toward the manor entrance.
“Forgive me if this is too bold, Miss Hope,” said Alash. “But is it customary for a Southern lady to carry a sword?”
“Yes,” she said, surprising herself with the easiness of the lie. Perhaps she was warming to her role as well. “All Southern ladies of a certain age must be armed. The isles are not as peaceful as this place.”
“It seems cumbersome to always have it in hand,” Alash said sympathetically.
“We normally belt the sheath to our side. But your Northern clothes don’t have a place for it.”
“So this is not even your native garb?” He seemed utterly fascinated. Hope suspected that Alash was starved for anything outside his own limited experience.
“No, it’s not,” she said truthfully.
He frowned thoughtfully. “Well, I think we should be able to figure some way for you to wear it comfortably. I’m quite clever, you see.”
Red made a quiet choking sound behind them.
“You said you are a man of science?” asked Hope.
“Indeed! It is my passion! Science of all kinds. Mechanical, natural, philosophical. I’m smitten with it all!”
“What was that machine you were riding?” asked Hope.
“Ah, that!” Alash beamed. “I call it a pedal carriage. It relies on a system of gears, rather like a clock, only much larger. This system allows one to make the carriage move simply by pedaling, without any need of horses!”
“How’s the steering?” asked Red cheerfully.
“Yes.” Alash’s cheeks flushed slightly. “As you witnessed, the steering is not quite ready.”
“Or the brakes,” said Red.
“That as well,” admitted Alash. Then he patted Hope’s hand. “But I assure you, Miss Hope, this is the way of science. Trial and error and refinement, day after day, until it is perfected!”
“That is the way of all things, not just science,” said Hope.
“Oh!” said Alash. “You are clearly a practitioner of the science of philosophy! I did not realize they had such studies in the South, but I am glad to hear it. The world would be much improved if we all took the time for philosophical speculation.”
“I agree.” Hope found herself smiling. There was something artlessly charming about Red’s cousin. A bright exuberance she had seen only in children. In many ways, he seemed the exact opposite of Red. Sweet, guileless, and without pretense.
As he led her across the rolling meadow to the stately Pastinas Manor, she felt a pang of regret that she was bringing violence within its walls.
No. They were harboring the vile biomancer, Teltho Kan. Alash might well be innocent. But someone in that place was not.
Alash led them through the lush gardens that encircled the home and up the imposing stone steps to the front door. “Here we are, then. Welcome to Pastinas Manor!”
The thick, dark wood doors were carved with intricate designs of fish and otters painted with accents of gold. He threw them open to reveal a large room with gleaming white floors, thick rugs, and delicately decorated sculpture hanging from every wall. In the center of the room was a grand staircase that swept up to the next level. At the top of the stairs, a giant portrait of an old man with thin black hair and a neck like a lizard gazed down balefully at them.
“That’s Grandfather,
” said Alash. “And yes, he is that dour, I’m afraid.” He patted Hope’s hand, still hooked through his arm. “Perhaps we should head to my workshop, where I can attend to your injury and fashion some small contrivance to hold your sword, Miss Hope.”
“That would be greatly appreciated, Alash,” said Hope.
Alash opened a small door off to one side that led to a narrow hallway. The plainness and economy of the hallway was in stark contrast to the front room, and Hope wondered why it was so different. At the end of the hall was a room with a bare wood floor and worktables along the walls. The room was strewn with metal gears, leather straps, sheets of waxed canvas, small pieces of wood, and odd little mechanical objects.
“Apologies for the mess,” Alash said absently as he bent down next to one of the piles and pulled out a wooden box. “Miss Hope, I must ask you to sit on this stool. I’m terribly sorry I don’t have anything more comfortable.”
“It’s fine, thank you.” Hope sat on the short, wooden stool and watched as he pulled a bandage from his box.
“I confess, I am more at home with mechanical sciences than medical ones,” said Alash as he knelt down in front of her. “But as you saw, my mechanical experiments frequently lead to injury. Usually my own. So I have some experience with a turned ankle.” He held up the bandage. “If you will permit me to wrap this around the injured ankle, the additional support should give you some relief and speed up your recovery.”
Alash’s hands were rough and calloused from his work with machinery. But his touch was gentle as he slowly wrapped Hope’s ankle in the soft cotton bandage. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Red shifting his weight back and forth. She wondered what he was feeling, now that he was actually inside his ancestral home.
“That should do it.” Alash stood up and packed his wooden box of medical supplies away. “Now to find you a suitable means of securing your sword.”
“It really is a workshop,” remarked Hope as she watched him rummage around in the piles of material.